


I Guess I'll Have to Change My Plan

by Arya_Greenleaf



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sold out movie forces the trio to change their Friday evening plans. Little do any of them suspect, it's a turn for the absolute better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Guess I'll Have to Change My Plan

**Author's Note:**

> The pacing of this thing only works if you go into it with the mindset that Stegginelli is already established on some level. I really just wanted Angie to get some loving from her favorite lady and who I think would be her favorite guy if they ever had the chance to meet, and the same for Peggy. This is my first attempt at this OT3.
> 
> Also, I was a bad bad writer and didn't check clips from AC to confirm what Peggy's apartment was set up like until after I'd written a _climax_ that depended on her having a twin bed.

Angie’s heart was battering itself forcefully against her ribs. Sweat was prickling at her hairline even with her head stuck out the window in the chilly Fall air. She ducked back into her room and threw herself down at the vanity table to pluck at tissue from the box at blot her forehead with it.

“She’s gonna be the death’a me.” Angie gave her reflection a stern look. “Mama warned you, Angela Martinelli.” She crumped the damp tissue in her fist and let her head fall to rest her cheek against it. She stared at herself despairingly in the mirror. Her Mama warned her about big dumb men who would try to steal her heart.

Never warned her about women like Peggy. Women who knew what they wanted and wanted it unabashedly; who would draw that same thing out in her as well.

Just five minutes ago, Angie was left feeling like she’d just pulled off the biggest caper ever conceived at the Griffith Hotel: She and Peggy had attempted to sneak a man past the first floor. After _visiting hours_ in the formal parlor were over. Right in front of Ms. Fry.

And so far, it looked as though they’d succeeded.

Angie let out a manic little giggle as she chucked her tissue in the garbage pail and began to unpin hair for the evening. She scratched at her scalp, working feeling back into it after a full shift with her hair up and her cap on.

“Where the hell was the casting d’recter fer _that_ performance?”

***

The three of them had planned to go out on the town together. It wasn’t often that they all wound up with a free evening at the same time and Angie had it all planned out to the last moment.

First, they were going to catch an early showing at the picture house. _Dark Passage_ was playing and Steve had a thing for Lauren Bacall. Peggy had been ravenous over each installment of the story when it had been a serial in _The Saturday Evening Post_. You just flat out could not talk to her until she’d finished her first cup of coffee and the latest edition—luckily she’d usually done that well before Angie made it down to the dining room on a Sunday morning. Angie didn’t have an opinion either way; she loved going to the pictures and going with those two was always an interesting time. Steve would either be completely at ease with is knees spread and braced against the back of the seat in front of him or he’d be at the edge of his seat, practically squatting in front of it instead of sitting. Peggy regarded everything with a critical eye at first, eventually easing into expressions to match the action. Sometimes watching them out of the corner of her eye was better than what they’d all paid to see.

Afterward, they’d go to dinner. Someplace quick and cheap with coffee that would put hair on a gal’s chest or a Chinese restaurant where they’d sip fragrant tea and eat slowly with chopsticks. They’d talk about work and the movie they’d seen. Angie would talk about her family if she’d seen them. Peggy would wonder if it might be time to visit her hometown across the Pond. Steve might share something about the sister of his friend who’d died, talking about her like she was his own.

Dinner finished they might go dancing. Last time they all got to go out together, Steve had taken them to a bar in Brooklyn where most of the men spoke with a heavy brogue and their hands moved quick as lightening over funny, hand-held drum skins and fiddle strings. Angie let Peggy whip her around in circles across the small, heavily scuffed dancefloor until her hair had gone flat for sweating and she was red in the face. Steve had smile and watched, slamming his heel against the floor in time with the music while he laughed and drank his beer in gulps, keeping up with the men around him and then some. Boy, could he hold his liquor! He’d blushed when Peggy teased him about being a wallflower and finally gotten up to do a little soft-shoe shuffle that got steadily faster with the beat of the music, loosening his tie and slicking his hands back through his hair. He kept his eyes on the floor and a bashful upturn to his lips. On their sleepy train-ride back across the river, Peggy had explained that they’d been in the neighborhood Steve grew up in, which didn’t explain at all the confused, guarded way that people he’d seemed very familiar with had regarded him, like he looked entirely different from the last time they’d seen him and they couldn’t quite put their finger on why.

When their Friday night finally came around, their plans had been spoiled. The showing of their picture had been sold out at the little theater near Steve’s apartment. Peggy suggested an earlier dinner and a later showing instead, nearer to the Griffith in case they ran close to curfew.

Steve always got this sly look on his face whenever one of the gals mentioned the Griffith’s rules about getting in late and when visitors were allowed. Angie knew Peggy was the type of woman that pushed the limits of the rules, heck, that’s part of why Angie loved her so darn much. But she couldn’t help but feel as if there was something the two of them weren’t telling her whenever Steve got that look and Peggy pursed her lips and rolled her eyes in response.

They did settle on Chinese for dinner after all.

Angie loved the rich colors all around. Deep red and brassy golds in silks and velvets, bright and soft blossoms painted or stitched all over the place in whites and pinks. The fine porcelain dishes and cups felt solid and delicate all at once, warmed by hands and food and drink. Spice and salt tickled her tongue and warmed her belly--little hot peppers leaving her lips feeling bee-stung or kiss-swollen when she pinched them off of her chopsticks between her teeth.

Peggy lamented over the fat-heads she worked with. From what Angie understood, Peggy was more than an office girl. She ran the switch-board shift she worked on. But they were forever making her take lunch orders and run copies and get coffee. Steve’s brows creased together and he frowned so hard Angie thought his face might stick. There was one really worked Peggy’s last nerve. He put up this gentlemanly front, defending Peg from all the obnoxious things their co-workers said even when she asked him to stop. She felt like he was putting her up on some pedestal, that the moment she faltered in his image of what she was he’d turn and act like all the rest.

“I can take care of myself. I didn’t make it through the War to come here and be a wilting hot-house flower.” Angie knew Peggy had been some kind of officer, but she didn’t talk much about her service. Angie didn’t know if it was because what she’d done was a secret somehow, like her girlfriend Janet who’d hopped on a train on a whim from the man she worked as a secretary for and went down south and never wrote her for the whole duration of the War, or if it was just something Peggy didn’t like to think about. Whatever her reasons, she’d gotten Steve out of the deal and that didn’t seem too shabby.

“Y’already know what I think’a that rat.” Steve’s big shoulder squared and tensed and he suddenly looked like he was sitting at a child’s pretend party with his big, callused hands wrapped around the delicate tea cup. “Y’already know what I wanna say t’all of ‘em.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I won’t. You kin take care of yerself.”

“I wish I could do somethin’ for ya, English.

Peggy waved them off. “That Thompson still givin’ y’trouble?”

“Is the sky blue?” Steve mumbled something that sounded distinctly like _deck that wiggly fucker._ Angie choked on the noodle she’d sucked between her lips. Steve looked confused for a moment, lost in his own thoughts, before thumping her soundly between the shoulder blades. “How about you, Angie?”

“How about me, what?”

“Eventful day at work?”

“Eh, rhubarb pie sold out faster’n the apple?” She shrugged. “Next time they send ya fer lunch you should come by the automat. I’m sure there’s _somethin_ ’ hangin’ around that kitchen y’can get a little revenge with.” Peggy laughed and said she might just take her up on the offer. “How about you, Blue Eyes?

“About as eventful as yer’s, Ang. Biggest excitement was me spillin’ the India ink all over my damned table. Thank _God_ I didn’t have any pages out. Bellman’da murdered me.”

“Rightfully so, I think. I’ve seen how long those pages take you when you do the penciling.”

Angie found herself falling asleep during the picture. She couldn’t decide if it was the funny way they’d framed everything that kept her from getting drawn into the film or the gut full of food. Either way, the decision to head back to the Griffith was unanimous. They’d caught the very last showing, they only had a few hours before Angie and Peggy absolutely had to be home or risk being locked out for the night. Neither one wanted to think of whether or not it would earn them eviction—was spending the night out as bad an offense as sneaking a man upstairs?

They settled in the cozy sitting room, nabbing the free space near the crackling fire. Aware of Ms. Fry’s watchful eye, Steve sat at ease, though still very upright, in his own chair while the gals made themselves comfortable on the couch with their cups of coffee. Peggy arranged an oversized knitted afghan that Carol’s mother sent along as a present for the house over their laps to ward against the slight nighttime chill. Its colors matched the tasteful floral pattern of the upholstery perfectly. The ladies had all inspected it for hidden wonders the day it arrived, making Fry exceedingly suspicious of all further packages from Carol’s mother.

The room began to empty out, the few other couples saying their goodbyes for the evening and the other girls filtering toward the stairs to set their curls and settle in for the night. Angie kept one eye on the clock, conscious of every second that Steve could still be there.

Steve had a fond smile on his face, his cheeks a rosy color from sitting near to the fireplace. He was regaling them with a story of his youth. “Rebecca was always ready’da defend ‘erself, never took any kinda nonsense from anyone.”

“Well, with brothers like you and Barnes, how could she be any other way?” Peggy paused, squinting at Steve. “But how would I know… you’ve _yet_ to introduce me to her.”

“I will! I will. She’ll be back from Sarah Lawrence at Christmas, you’ll meet ‘er then.” His cheeks flared a brighter pink and he looked bashful at the prospect of introducing Peggy to someone he considered family. “Anyway… This kid, Seamus, was pickin’ on ‘er all week, all the usual—tuggin’ at her skirt, snippin’ off the end of her pigtail—but she wouldn’t tell her Ma and she wouldn’t let Bucky or I take care of ‘im. Well, Bucky wouldda taken care of ‘im. I wouldda just looked as menacing as I could.”

Angie barked out a laugh. “You, Steve Rogers, a school yard bully?” She shivered, a jolt of cold air shooting up under the afghan when she shifted her legs now that the fire was burning low. Peggy’s hand moved beneath the blanket, rubbing up and down Angie’s thigh as if to ward off her chill. “Geeze, English, take me’da dinner first!”

Peggy laughed, “Haven’t I already?”

Steve smiled and shook his head. “Not a bully. At least I don’t think so, hated bullies. We were defendin’ her honor.” He finished the last of the coffee in his mug and raised a brow, looking pointedly at the afghan and Peggy’s and Angie’s legs beneath. “And I’m pretty sure _I_ took both of ya to dinner—and a picture.”

“Well then you’ll just have ta share me.” Angie’s cheeks flared with color at her own innuendo. She gasped and bit down on her lip when Peggy leaned in, hot breath on her cheek.

“Maybe we will.”

“ _Peggy_.”

She laughed, low and dark. Her eyes slid from Angie to Steve and they shared a knowing look. Peggy shifted to rest her head against Angie’s shoulder. “Or maybe _I’ll_ just have you both.” Angie’s brain went fuzzy, a radio between stations, as she tried to keep her cool. Peggy’s hand was still on her thigh.

Helen flounced through the living room, her blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders, still done up when most of the other women were already retired for the evening. She perched herself on the arm of the couch nearest Peggy, situating herself between the two on the couch and Steve in his chair. “Are you all done with your coffee? I was puttin’ a load of dishes in.” She crossed her legs, angling a shapely calf in Steve’s direction and aiming a bright smile at him. “Sorry to interrupt. Are you Peggy’s beau?”

Steve cleared his throat and allowed Helen to take his mug. “Yes, Miss—”

“Helen, the name’s Helen, dumplin’. Well aren’t you just _pretty._ He really is, Peggy. I didn’t think that was your type.” She seemed to be aiming to make Steve blush. “I’ll just take these now so you all can say yer goodbyes. Visitin’s almost up, y’know.” She took the coffee mugs from Angie and Peggy and flounced away again.

Helen gone, Steve stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in the front of his slacks from sitting. “As interestin’ s that was—was that suppose’ta be a compliment? I’m not sure—she’s right. I should get t goin’. You gals wanna meet me for breakfast?” He leaned down and pecked a light kiss against the top of Peggy’s head, eyes flicking through the glass-paneled doors to the front desk Fry was sitting behind.

Peggy picked up her head from Angie’s shoulder and caught Steve’s hand, smiling softly up at him, “Darling, sit for a moment.”

“Peg, yer landlady’s gonna be upset.”

“Sit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Angie wondered briefly, and not for the first time, if Peggy had somehow been a senior officer to Steve. There was something about her tone and the way Steve acquiesced to her that made Angie curious. She turned information over in her head, Steve was as tight-lipped as Peggy sometimes. She’d heard someone call him _Captain Rogers_ once at the automat. Did they have ladies’ ranks higher than that?

“Peggy, he’s right, Ms. Fry—“

“—Looks like she’d be interested in hearing about that audition you went on. What was it, Wednesday? You should be hearing whether or not you’ve got a call-back soon, won’t you?”

Steve looked like the cat that ate the canary.

Angie lowered her voice to a whisper, “Yer not gonna do what I think, y’are. She _just_ told the Houdini story yesterday.”

Peggy laughed, “That’s why we’re not going to play any tricks, Angie. We’re going to walk him right up those front stairs.”

“Aw, Peg, don’t tease ‘er like that. I’ll see you gals in the morning.”

“I’m quite serious.” Peggy stood and picked up the afghan to fold it neatly and lay over the back of the couch.

“I can’t believe I’m doin’ this.”

“Think of it as a performance.” Peggy looked downright amused. Angie glared at her for a moment and then set her shoulders and walked over to the front desk.

Angie didn’t know how Peggy managed it. She saw Peggy walk Steve to the door and wish him a good night. Fry looked up over Angie’s shoulder and nodded in Steve’s direction in response to his quiet, “Good night, ma’am.” Out of the corner of her eye, Angie watched Peggy round the corner to the stairs.

She continued to chat with Ms. Fry for a few minutes longer, not quite sure how long she was supposed to stall, still half convinced it was all just a big joke. “My dear, will you bring me the log book? I’ll just check to see that everyone is safely in for the night before I lock up.” Angie slid down to the far end of the desk and came back with the book. She quickly scanned the page, looking at all the flowery, looping signatures. She didn’t think it had ever happened in the time she’d lived at the Griffith, but it looked like all of the girls were home for the night. Ms. Fry checked the list, smiling to herself in a satisfied way before she put it away in the drawer and came out from behind the desk to lock the front doors and turn out the lights. She and Angie moved through the living room and the front foyer, turning the lamps low and checking the windows, chit-chatting about Angie’s potential call back. Ms. Fry had a few opinions on what monologue she might read if given the option. The woman ran a tight ship, but she really did care about her tenants.

“Now you sleep well, Miss Martinelli.”

“Yes, ma’am, you too.” They parted ways at the bottom of the stairs, Ms. Fry heading toward the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. Angie bounded up the stairs two at a time and ducked into her room. She leaned back against the door once it was closed, kicking off her shoes. She wasn’t about to run right over to Peggy’s and give her the satisfaction that she’d had Angie going—or draw attention if this whole game was for real.

Angie calmed herself down, blotting nervous perspiration away from her brow and wiping off the little makeup she wore. She yanked off her clothes and pulled her nightgown over her head, tying her bathrobe around her waist for good measure.

She didn’t know what she was going to do if she walked across the hall and found Steve in Peggy’s room.

Fry always knew.

Somehow. Frankly, it was supernatural, her ability to find out when a rule was being broken.

Angie paused with her hand on the doorknob. She shivered, thinking of Peggy’s hand on her thigh and the sultry tone of her voice when she put her head on Angie’s shoulder.

She was going across that hall.

Angie took a deep breath and rapped her knuckles against Peggy’s door.

No answer.

She leaned in, pressing her ear to the smooth surface. She pursed her lips at the distinctive sound of a squeaky bedspring. She knocked again, more firmly. “Peggy?”

“Yeh-ehsss!”

Angie glanced up and down the hall before opening the door and slipping inside, easing it shut behind her as quietly as she could and flipping the lock in a practiced motion. “Peggy, you—“

She’d never get used to the way Peggy looked when she was all laid out. Angie was of the notion that that she belonged carved out of marble, displayed for everyone in an art museum alongside the sot curves and bumps of those Greek and Roman ladies.

They’d moved her bed away from the wall some time ago—a fit of boredom that had resulted in both of their apartments being completely rearranged one weekend. They’d placed the night table closer to the wall, hoping the light bouncing off of the corner of the room would light the whole thing better and free up an outlet for something else. It didn’t work, but Peggy had liked the way the room looked anyway and kept it.

Now, she was stretched across the width of the bed in her birthday suit, her face turning a rosy color from hanging upside down and presumably because of what Steve was doing between her legs. The smile plastered across her face was near-delirious looking, like she’d been to the dentist for some heavy work. Her expression softened and she reached out, running her tongue across her bottom lip and setting her gaze on Angie. She rubbed hard against Steve’s bare shoulder with her heel and he groaned openly, pressing his face closer to her. Her thighs trembled.

Angie collected herself as quickly as she could, the wave of heat rolling down from her scalp to her toes making her dizzy. She crossed the room and settled herself as gracefully as she could on her knees. She ran her fingers though Peggy’s hair, cradling her head to look at her from the wrong way ‘round. “Y’started without me.”

Peggy’s laugh came from somewhere deep in her belly, “His fault.” Steve did something to make her gasp. He looked devilish when he caught Angie’s eye, looking up over Peggy’s dam curls through his eyelashes.

“Guess I’ll have’ta catch up then.” Angie leaned down and pressed soft kisses at the corner of Peggy’s mouth and over her chin, eventually catching her lips and kissing her outright, sliding her tongue over Peggy’s and licking at the space between teeth and lip, just a little dirty.

Peggy was breathless when Angie pulled away. She couldn’t help but feel just a little proud of herself. Peggy’s lashes fluttered when Steve called her name softly, like speaking too loud would shatter the moment—though more likely he was conscious of calling attention to the room. He was licking at the inside of her thigh, biting at the skin, when he offered her two fingers. She ran her tongue over them, sucking them into her mouth and wetting them with saliva. Faint red lipstick stains appeared close to his knuckles when he pulled them away. They disappeared inside of her and Peggy pointed her toes like a dancer, calves going tight and hard.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, darling.” Peggy reached out again, pulling Angie down into a sloppy kiss, fingers gripping her hair and moaning softly into Angie’s mouth.

“I can’t fix that ‘less ya let me go, English.” Steve’s hands came up, gently pulling Peggy’s away as he leaned over her. He slipped an arm under her shoulders and pulled her body toward him, meeting her body with his at the opposite edge of the mattress.

Peggy watched her with that drunken grin while she untied her robe. Steve was kissing the inside of Peggy’s ankle, her solid leg thrown up casually on his shoulder, regarding her with quiet interest. The attention made Angie feel silly. She wiggled her shoulders and swung the ends of robe’s belt around in circles, flashing them glances of her conservative nightgown—function over appeal for the season. She watched Peggy’s fingers trail down her own belly, caressing herself as she watched Angie undress. Angie bit her lip, thumbs hooked into the waist of her panties before settling on wiggling out of them and letting them drop to the floor.

Peggy reached out, ever demanding, her fingertips brushing over Angie’s thighs. “C’mere.”

Angie took her cues from Peggy’s greedy fingers. Steve let Peggy’s leg off of his shoulder and steadied Angie with his hands under her forearms as she knelt on the bed, hovering. Peggy’s hands searched and caressed at her thighs and hips and belly. She jumped, surprised at the warm breath and wet tongue between her legs. She settled lower, Peggy’s nails digging in.

It was odd, looking down at Steve the way she was. He normally towered over her, a solid wall of _man_. But on his knees on the floor beside the bed, looking up at her with that soft smile on his face—practically reverent—he seemed so at ease; like he’d spent a lifetime looking up instead of down, more comfortable from that perspective than at his usual stature.

Angie looked down at his mouth, already so obscene looking with his bee-stung lips, shiny and wet with Peggy’s arousal. She leaned down to kiss him, the sharp and heady taste of Peggy and bitter, black coffee on his teeth and tongue. He moved her hands to his shoulders for balance and put his on her ribcage, high and warm and rough, his thumbs moving back and forth under the curve of her breasts. A firm bite at the inside of her thigh made her shudder. Steve kissed across the corner of her mouth and down across her jaw. Peggy’s arms tightened around her thighs, pulling Angie down more firmly, and Peggy sucked hard at her clitoris just as Steve made his way under her chin. The wet trail he left over her throat and down to her collarbone cooled quickly, making her shiver.

“You—you _two_ —“ Angie was breathless, gripping Steve’s shoulders as he ducked his head and sucked a nipple between his teeth. Her chattering earned a muffled laugh from below that vibrated against her sex and made her toes curl. Peggy shifted beneath her, knees knocking Steve’s elbows as she squirmed and bent and unbent her knees. Angie pulled Steve away with a handful of his hair, oversensitive and body beginning to thrum. He looked up at her with flushed cheeks and bedroom eyes—hardly avoidable with those damned eyelashes—and rolled his body, pressing his hard cock down with a thumb and rubbing himself against Peggy. “Oh my _gawd_ , you two’re gonna get me in such trouble one’a these days.” Steve laughed and tilted his face up for another kiss.

Peggy stroked Angie’s thigh gently, a request to come up for air. She leaned heavily on Steve to swing her leg over without knocking Peggy in the face. She dropped down into the pillows, her legs feeling like they were made of jelly, her inner thighs wet. Angie bit her lip, watching Steve pull Peggy up, Peggy wrapping herself around him, soft and hard flesh molding around each other. Peggy closed her eyes and smiled. She rolled her neck, catlike, and turned her gaze toward Angie.

“Steve, darling.”

He leaned down, smacking a loud kiss against the top of her head. “Yeah?”

Her lips curled up into a wicked smile. “Fuck me.”

“No can do, doll-face.” Peggy scrunched her nose in displeasure at the teasing name. “No rubbers.”

Angie broke out into laughter, “She’s got rubbers.” Steve raised brow. “They’re in the elephant.” She gestured to a ceramic figure on the night table. Steve leaned over, awkward with Peggy wrapped around him, and picked up the figure. When he turned it over, sure enough, there were several bright orange, paper packets tucked inside the elephant’s hollow belly.

“Why the elephant?”

Peggy shrugged, “Because it was funny.” She peeled herself away from Steve, his cock bobbing between them when she did, and crawled up the narrow bed toward Angie. “He doesn’t think I’m funny.” Steve snorted and replaced the elephant on the table after he’d slipped one of the packets out.

“I think yer hilarious, English.”

“Mm, good.” Peggy kissed her sweetly, letting her taste herself, and shifted up onto her knees. She planted one between Angie’s legs. “At least one of you is smart.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at Steve before turning her attention to Angie once again, kissing her hard enough to make it hurt when her teeth smashed up against the inside of her lip. Peggy’s heavy breasts bushed against her own, the warmth of her body soaking into Angie’s. She pressed her knee closer.

The glassine packet crinkled. Steve made soft, pleased sounds somewhere behind Peggy.

Angie rolled her hips, rubbing herself against Peggy’s thigh.

Peggy kissed her tenderly, again and again, losing interest in her mouth and moving to her breasts and back again. She gasped, her mouth going sloppy and imprecise against Angie’s before she laid her head against Angie’s shoulder.

Angie stroked her arms and back while Steve gripped her backside and hips, his bottom lip pressed nearly white between his teeth.

Angie matched her pace with Steve’s and best she could, rolling her hips up and down, gyrating in gentle circles against Peggy. The soft lips and soft body against hers worked to both relax and invigorate. It started with warmth in her belly, building heat between her legs. It turned into tingling pinpricks in the soles of her feet and raced upward. Peggy let herself down onto her elbows and held Angie close as she came, Peggy’s own breath growing increasingly erratic against Angie’s ear.

“Peg—“

“Faster.”

Angie shook, little aftershocks jolting through her, Steve’s continued motion jarring Peggy’s body against hers, the three of them a mess of uneven breath and the smack of skin-on-skin.

Peggy cried out, high and controlled behind lips pressed thin and tight, and she shook hard, knees sliding out slowly. Steve grit his teeth, nostrils flared, with his arm around her waist to support her as she lowered herself. The muscled in his arms were taut, veins in his forearms standing out, as he continued to thrust his hips down with one knee on the bed and a foot on the floor. He put his head down, cheek against Peggy’s shoulder. Angie traced the path of a vein up his arm and over his shoulder, caressing his face gently. His hips stuttered and his body seemed to turn to stone.

Sated and boneless, Peggy and Angie curled into each other. Steve leaned back against the brass footing of the bed, fingers stroking idly against Peggy’s calf.

“I should go.” He spoke after several long moments.

“Your only option is shimmying down the gutter. Stay.”

***

Angie felt terrible that Steve had spent the night on the floor. Peggy pulled a pillow and a heavy quilt out of her closet for him when he insisted that Angie stay and that he’d slept in worse places.

“But it’s just across the way.”

“Stay.”

She didn’t feel terrible enough that she didn’t enjoy the night curled around Peggy under her comforter.

Angie sat at the vanity, watching Steve dress in his clothes from the day pervious in the early morning light, Peggy running a brush through her hair. “How _did_ y’manage ta get him up here?”

“Ran ‘round ta the service door fer the kitchen.”

“But Helen—“

“Is full of it. The mugs were sittin’ on the counter and the washer wasn’t runnin’. Y’kept Fry talking long enough I stuck ‘em in and turned it on. Then I walked right up the stairs. Two at a time.”

Peggy laughed behind her, Angie grimaced as the brush caught at a tangle.

“How’re ya getting _out_ again?” She stood and crossed her arms as Steve smoothed wrinkles out of the sleeves of his jacket and slipped his coat on.

“Dumbwaiter to the laundry room. Out the back.”

“Y’better hope no one’s down there’da fink on ya.”

“Oh, I won’t let him out unless the coast is clear.” Peggy laid a kiss against Angie’s cheek and ushered her toward the door. “Save me a place at breakfast.”

Peggy winked when she placed her plate and her mug down beside Angie. The breakfast table was boisterous as usual until Ms. Fry cleared her throat, “As you all know ladies, when the great Houdini came here in nineteen-twenty-five, the only trick he was unable to perform was to ascend the stairs—“

Angie choked on the gulp of milk she’d just begun to swallow.

“Miss Martinelli, are you quite alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“As I was saying… over the years a great many other gentlemen have attempted the trick as well. Few have succeeded by nefarious means and have been dealt with accordingly. It is my greatest hope, that though I do not approve of Miss Carter’s own conduct at times, that the rest of the Griffith’s residents may emulate her choice of gentlemen.”

Peggy’s fingers dug into Angie’s knee beneath the table.

“I am always thrilled to see a man ready and willing to respect a lady and the rules of the house she lives in.” Ms. Fry pursed her lips, her gaze flowing around the room and over several shocked and confused faces. “Carry on.”

With Ms. Fry safely out of earshot, Peggy and Angie put their foreheads together and laughed in a rush of nervous tension.

Helen peered at them suspiciously over the brim of her teacup.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Dark Passage_ was released in '47. It was based on the [novel by David Goodis](http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/844793.Dark_Passage) and actually did quite poorly at the box office due to (among things that people didn't like about the movie itself) Bogart's support for the _Committee for the First Amendment_ (an organization made of mostly actors fighting back against the _House Un-American Activities Committee_ which was formed to root out Nazis and then moved on to communists within the country's private citizenship). It was Bacall and Bogart's third collaboration. The title of this work is in reference to [I Guess I'll Have to Change My Plan]() which plays during a scene in which Bogart's character is recuperating at Bacall's apartment, and references a previous collaboration by the two which is something that their fans would have caught on to.
> 
> Angie's friend takes off to work for the atomic bomb/ project, likely she was a secretary in New York for a member of the military or an investor in the Manhattan Project. The girls were put on a train and then basically not heard from much once they reached their destination at the project site in Oak Ridge, TN where they were working to amass and enrich uranium for the device. They could write home, of course, but they couldn't talk about their work, their housing, or anything about the project or the city that had been built to contain it and all of its various workers. You can read about a wide variety of experiences from the point of view of the women who worked there in [The Girls of Atomic City](http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15801668-the-girls-of-atomic-city). It gives a picture of what was going on from the science, engineering, labor, and secretarial point of view.
> 
> Steve references Allen Bellman, who penciled the backgrounds for Syd Shore's Captain America books back in 1942 while he was still a teenager. He eventually worked on other big projects for Marvel. He's actually still around as of this writing, still doing commissions, and still doing the convention circuit. He's truly a delightful person.
> 
> Carol is, of course, the Griffith resident with the special chicken pocket in her sweater. Helen is one of the girls that Howard cozies up to when Peggy hides him at the Griffith.
> 
> Dishwashers with drying mechanisms were available in the '40s for somewhere around $3k present-day value. I imagine with all of the dishes that the Griffith residents must go through every day, their kitchen a small restaurant in its own right, even if the ladies were assigned a certain amount of chores around the hotel as a stipulation of their occupancy, a dishwasher would still have been necessary for sheer volume.
> 
> Did everyone else enjoy the Peggy/Angie Spiderman kiss as much as I enjoyed imagining/writing it?


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